


Heavy

by oliverqueens



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverqueens/pseuds/oliverqueens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity searches for comfort in Oliver's fighting gear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! this is my very first fic, and it is based entirely upon a tumblr prompt that, funnily enough, was never actually sent to me. All grammatical mistakes are my own. Please be gentle. I'm new and very intimidated.

Felicity had a very distinct memory of her sixteen year old self sitting out on the courtyard of Starling's only ecology site, diligently flipping through numerous SAT review books—many of which she had borrowed, in secrecy, on account of how expensive they were. 

She vaguely recalled wearing her red rimmed eyeglasses atop her head, oftentimes serving as a headband, due them having been a size or two too big, and always sliding off her button nose in the most unfortunate situations. 

She doesn't remember much from her childhood, all of the mundane things having been overshadowed by her mother's death and her father's refusal to come to terms with it. But one thing, one very insignificant thing out of all others, now manifested itself in her mind so clearly and incredibly unwarranted that she had to remind herself to maintain her composure.

Given the lack of normalcy in her current life, this surge of panic that flowed through her seemed almost nostalgic, like the night before her standardized exam, at the realization that she had thought of everything but to sharpen her writing utensils. 

She felt then exactly as she had when she was sixteen. Panicked, and utterly unprepared for the events that would soon follow.

She hadn't appreciated the serenity that ecology site brought to her then, but as Oliver stood before her, all squared shoulders and perched brows, she scrambled to regain that feeling. 

"What do you think you're doing?" His tone was as demanding as it was curious, she noted, though the tight fold of his arms across his chest wavered any hope she had that he would overlook the entire situation. 

She was quiet for once. 

"Felicity," he pressed while taking a lengthy step toward her, only stopping to analyze her attire. "What are you wearing?" 

The clatter of arrows hitting the ground muffled her solemn apology. She still clung to his bow tightly, though, deeming it too expensive and valuable to drop, even in her mortified daze. His words replayed in her head in a loop and she frowned, attempting her best not to venture back to when he had last directed that question to her, and how particularly rattled she had been that entire week they were tracking down Tockman. 

She had felt out of place then, and despite Oliver's reassurance of her worth to him—or rather, to their team—things hadn't necessarily changed. With Sara's departure and the end of Slade's pursuit, arrow related things had considerably cooled down, but she still felt as though Oliver was growing increasingly absent from her daily routine, and that didn't sit very well with her. Or Diggle, for that matter.

Though, presumably due to the various other times he had posed as Oliver's alter ego to the Starling City public, the vision of Diggle dressed as the arrow would not have been nearly as unsettling as the sight at hand.

Felicity's manicured nails stood in contrast around Oliver's bow, her grip never wavering, despite her obvious discomfort with the situation. She had not gone as far as slipping his leather pants over her own, but his hood was draped over her head, obscuring his view of her eyes. She was glad for that; she knew that if her eyes met his she would possibly implode from sheer embarrassment. 

"I can explain," she piped up, reveling in the protection the green hood offered her. 

Before he had acquired a mask—though, in her opinion, that was still not very proficient—she had not understood how Oliver felt so certain that his identity would not be compromised by the little concealment provided by the shadows cast by his hoodie. 

She understood it now, though. Oliver's concern was not solely focused on people's perception of the man behind the hood, but more so on how secure he felt while wearing it. 

She felt safe in it, she thought, but that might have had something to do with how Oliver's cologne still lingered on the collar of his attire.

"Please do," he urged, and at that moment she swore she saw a slight twitch at the corners of lips. 

Was he amused?

After a few false starts, Felicity finally managed to roll a coherent response from her bubblegum stained lips, "I missed you," 

She saw a slight shift in his stance as he dropped his arms limply against his sides. She took that as an opportunity to hand over his bow, seeing as his gaze had wondered down to it as she spoke, and she had been unsure of where to place it, now that he was standing before her, analyzing her every move. 

She continued after a beat, her hands hovering lightly over his as she placed the weapon in his grasp, "Given the circumstances, I haven't seen much of you lately," she frowned, still unsure of where they stood where Thea's disappearance was concerned. 

"Either of you," she added sheepishly, allowing the green hood to fall gently against her shoulders as she lowered it. 

It was Oliver's turn to stay quiet. He inspected his weapon carefully, almost as if he had never laid eyes on it, though both of them were fully aware that his familiarity with it was almost comparable to that of one of his family members. 

He walked toward her desk and adjusted her tech equipment accordingly, placing the bow on whatever free space he had left before circling back to meet her. 

He stepped so close to her that the tips of her toes were touching his, and for an equivocal moment she thought he might lean down and kiss her. Instead, he allowed his shoulders to deflate from their usually steely line, and then he placed two firm hands on her shoulders and managed a very soft plea, "don't put this on again." 

She pondered for a moment, before asking, "why not?" 

His hands travelled lightly from her shoulders and along the zipper line down her petite torso. She flinched under his touch—not because she didn't welcome it, but because she did, too much so to be considered platonic, and she knew then that if he was aware of his effects on her, he would never fess up to it. 

The path his fingers trailed stopped short once he reached the small latch at the hem of his jacket, he motioned to undo it, but stopped until she acknowledged he was allowed to do so. She gave him a faint nod, thoughts still reeling from his proximity, and then, quick and efficient as ever, Oliver proceeded to find the zipper just bellow her chin, and pulled it down respectively. 

She inhaled sharply once he reached inside the jacket and placed his hands wide atop her shoulder blades. She was sporting a halter top, which only exposed more skin for his fingertips to roam.

Taking complete advantage of the situation, Oliver slid his hands along the lengths of her arms, making it that much easier to discard the hood and along with it, his jacket. 

He refused to entertain the small, greedy part of him that reveled at the sight of Felicity sporting something of his. For a transient moment he allowed his fingers to linger on her skin. He wondered how warmth still emanated from it, despite the shrill, air conditioned air in the lair. 

Felicity cleared her throat, slightly startled by the sound of his gear being discarded so carelessly onto the floor. Only then did Oliver realize that he still held her considerably tightly, and at a very close proximity. He uncurled his digits from the curves of her neck, to where they had subconsciously travelled, and took a couple of steps back. 

She repeated her earlier question and he mustered a quick response, "you shouldn't carry that weight on your shoulders," he said. His words were simple but grave, and she understood why he had been so displeased by the sight of her in his fighting gear.

"Never again," he stated, though she picked up on the slight falter of his voice toward the end. It almost sounded like a plea. 

She nodded again, and watched warily as he climbed his way back up the metal steps that would lead him into Verdant. Mimicking his earlier position, Felicity folded her arms against her chest, though she did it more as an effort to keep herself warm rather than Oliver, who assumed that position whenever something intrigued him. 

She looked up once the clacking sound of his boots against the metal steps came to a halt. Her gaze met his in confusion as she took in his figure: fingertips brushing lightly against the keypad on the door, and the most awe striking smile she had ever witnessed quirked both corners of his lips upward. The contrast between his current pose and the one he sported a few seconds earlier was uncanny. 

She felt as though his mood lifted with each step he climbed. 

"Come on, come get a drink with me," he urged, "I've missed you, too." 

With that, all of the weight his words bared was lifted from her shoulders and easily discarded, just as the hood had been. As she retraced his steps along the staircase, finding comfort in the hand that had reached out to her and found its resting place on her lower back, she refused to entertain the thought that Oliver would never feel that kind of relief. 

He would always carry the weight of hood with him. 

Subconsciously, Felicity felt herself inching away from his touch, as if resting her physical weight against him would only heighten the burden he had been forced to carry once he had made the choice to survive on that hellish island.

Almost as if reading her thoughts, Oliver's grip on her back shifted to her hip, which consequently led him to pull her flush against him. He feathered a light, reassuring kiss atop her head—which was very uncharacteristic, but she wasn't complaining—and proceeded to lead them out of their workspace. 

"I'm glad you came in today," she whispered against his shoulder almost inaudibly. 

"Me too."


End file.
